


Paperclips and Staple Refills

by hotrodngold (Krystalicekitsu)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Closet Sex, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Threesome - M/M/M, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:34:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/hotrodngold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Greg go down to archives and then John goes down some more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paperclips and Staple Refills

"Ah- Ah- _oh god_..."

Greg squeezes his eyes shut desperately fighting, holding off. When John glances up, he knows that face. Mouth open, brow furrowed. One of the Inspector's arms is stretched across the row of filing cabinets he's leaned against, scrambling and clutching against the metal.

John moves his hand down the shaft half in his mouth, nudging shorts and zips aside, dips his fingers down and under. Cups Greg's balls.

Above him, there's a choked moan.

John swallows down another inch.

The breathless gasps are back and John wants to see him lose it, wants to watch Detective Inspector Lestrade come apart above him, shattering to pieces and liquid limbs. He wants to watch Greg throw his head back in rapture, wants to see his spine arching, displaying that lovely chest. He wants to see it all.

He reaches back further, slips a finger inside.

Greg stiffens above him.

Almost.

Almost....

He pulls back, pulls off, lets the heavy weight fall from his tongue and slide down his lips. Drags his tongue down the shaft and around the crown and dips it into the slit before repeating the actions again and again. Once more. Three times again. The breathless moans are tipped with a barely-there keen now.

John reaches up with his free hand to rake his nails gently over Greg's chest.

Greg shudders.

John pushes his finger slowly further in. Draws it out and does it again.

Greg lets out a punch of breath. Spreads his legs wider.

John forces his throat to relax and sucks him down to the root in one quick move.

Greg's spare hand fists sharply in his hair and now it's John's turn to moan. He's pulled off and then forced back down and John goes with it, opens his throat, lets Greg fuck his mouth. It's good, so good to be here, down here, with Greg above him, the thick prick sliding between his lips and over his tongue, forcing it's way into his throat. He wiggles the finger in Greg's arse, trying to get more of a reaction.

And he does. Greg slams into his throat and god, John's gagging now, sweet, sweet pressure invading and brutalizing his mouth and god he loves it. Revels in it. Is so glad he has a partner who understands it. He has to fight not to shove away, but that, too, is wonderful, forcing himself to take it all.

"oh god, john..."

Greg is never as loud as DI Lestrade is. Not here, with a floorful of underlings above them.

The door rattles next to them and Greg stills so suddenly, buried as far down John's throat as his cock will go.

They both wait, listening and frozen, for the scratch of keys at locks- but a voice echoes from the other end of the corridor, and their mysterious, near-interrupter pauses before replying, and then the shadow moves away from the door.

Greg doesn't even wait until the footsteps fade before he's fucking John's face again, more intense than John thought he could ever get. It's good, but it's starting to hurt and John's seconds from pulling away and offering up his arse when Greg does it.

Stiffens and throws his head back, exposing the long line of his throat, curves his spine, nipples standing up underneath his shirt, exploding down John's throat, spasming in his mouth.

John would be staining his trousers from that view if it weren't for the metal band wrapped firmly around his cock.

John pulls away, resting his head against Greg's hip before they pull themselves upright and together, straightening out shirts and belts, flattening down hair and wrinkled knees.

They make their way back upstairs silently, each reading over the folder in his hands.

John's reasonably sure they fool the whole office. He's not sure if he's disappointed in this lack of intuitive skills and minor deductive thought processes, or very glad they won't have to put up with the bravado.

Then Sherlock walks in.

It's not five seconds before John is sighing, dreading and oddly proud of what he knows is going to next come out of his flatmate's mouth.

Sure enough, one glance over of John and half a look at Greg and John's getting- "You know, archives is a horrible place for that."

"Next time," he continues and John mentally braces himself for dry humor he's surprised not to get, "try the office supply room. There's a desk."

"And," he adds, "it's actually big enough for three."


End file.
